


Come Here Often?

by mithrel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blanket Permission, M/M, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-26
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-11 07:29:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrel/pseuds/mithrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt was: “AU, Respective friends drag them to a nightclub and they meet.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Come Here Often?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



“Becky, I swear to _God_ –” Dean starts, but she’s not paying any attention.

“This is great! I’ve been wanting to come here since it opened, everyone’s talking about this club! I hear Kevin Smith comes here all the time when he’s in town! And–”

Dean rolls his eyes and tunes out the rest of Becky’s excited monologue. He’s going to _kill_ Sam for getting sick and making him go along with Becky to this club. The girl is batshit insane, and clubbing isn’t Dean’s thing anyway–he prefers bars–but Sam had pinky-sworn that he’d take her, and that was, like, sacred or some shit, so here he was.

They get past the bouncer without trouble, unfortunately, and end up in a dark room full of swirling lights, techno music and a shit-ton of people. _**This** is cool?_ Dean thinks incredulously. There’s a freaking _disco ball_ hanging from the ceiling.

Becky’s gone within ten seconds, disappearing in the crush of people on the dance floor, which is something at least. Dean goes and sort of hovers awkwardly near the wall. It’s like being the geeky kid at the high-school dance who no one ever talked to. And Dean was _never_ that kid.

Not that he wants to be out in the mass of sweaty, grinding bodies, either, Jesus _Christ._ Sam might complain that he’s shameless, but _Dean’s_ not the one who agreed to go here.

He casts his eyes over the room and sees a guy standing a few feet away from him, hunched over, his arms crossed, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. For lack of anything else to do, Dean heads over.

“Lemme guess. You got dragged here, too.”

The guy looks up, blinking at Dean. “What makes you say that?” His voice is surprisingly deep, for such a skinny dude.

“The clothes, man. You don’t exactly blend in.”

The guy looks down at his sweater vest and dress pants, then back up at Dean, almost defiantly. “I didn’t want to come here.”

“You and me both. My brother’s batshit friend dragged me here. I’m Dean Winchester.” He sticks out his hand, and after a moment the guy takes it.

“Castiel Novak.”

Dean blinks, because _seriously?_ What the hell kind of name is ‘Castiel’?

“So who dragged you here?” Dean asks after a moment.

Castiel opens his mouth but before he can answer a short, manic and very _loud_ blur comes rocketing out of the crowd.

The blur shoves a drink in Castiel’s direction. “Hey, bro!”

Castiel grimaces and pushes the drink away. “Gabriel. Are you finished yet?”

“Hell no!” the guy–Gabriel, presumably–retorts. “Do you know how much tail I can get tonight if I play my cards right?”

Castiel sighs. “Gabriel–”

“You need to loosen up already! Have a little fun!” Gabriel pokes him in the side, then looks up, appearing to see Dean for the first time. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Dean,” Castiel mumbles reluctantly. Dean’s surprised Gabriel can even hear him over the music.

Gabriel gives him a slow and obvious once-over and Dean bristles, wondering if he can get away with punching the guy.

“I had no idea you were into that, bro,” Gabriel says, leering at Castiel.

Castiel flushes angrily. “Go _away_ , Gabriel!”

Gabriel smirks at him. “Sure. I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.” And he’s gone as abruptly as he’d appeared.

Dean stares after him incredulously.

“I apologize,” Castiel says. “Gabriel can be…tactless.”

 _Not the word I’d use._ “That’s your brother?” Dean demands.

Castiel grimaces again. “Unfortunately,” he replies, and Dean laughs.

“Hey,” he says after a moment. “You wanna get outta here?”

Castiel raises a brow at him and he flushes. “I didn’t mean…I didn’t mean like _that,_ it’s just…I mean, neither of us wants to be here.” And, yeah, totally the geeky kid at the dance.

Cas considers a moment, then nods.

Dean would feel guilty for leaving Becky, but from the way she’s grinding against a guy in biker leather, he doesn’t think she’ll notice.

***

They end up at a diner, Dean parking the Impala outside.

He slides awkwardly into the booth across from Castiel. “So what the hell kinda name is Castiel anyway?” He winces as soon as he says it, realizing how it sounds.

But Castiel doesn’t take offense, just says, “It’s Hebrew. It means ‘My cover is God.’”

Dean snorts. “What, were your parents Bible-freaks or something?”

Castiel shrugs. “What about you?”

Dean grimaces. “I was named after my grandmother.” (Sam had nearly pissed himself laughing when he found out. “And you call _me_ a girl!” He hadn’t been laughing when he’d ended up bald for a month after Dean put Nair in his shampoo, though.)

“So why were you in the club?” Castiel asks.

Dean shakes his head. “My brother promised he’d take a friend of his, but then he got sick and somehow roped me into it.”

Castiel nods.

The conversation lags after that, and Dean finally says, “So what do you do?” He winces again, because _lame_ much? He’s usually smoother than this.

“I work in a bookstore.”

Dean rolls his eyes. Figures he’d be the nerdy type. “Sounds fun.”

Castiel shrugs. “I get a discount on books. What about you?”

Dean shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “I’m a mechanic. Restore cars on the side.” He gestures out the window to the Impala. “Restored my baby out there.”

Castiel glances at the car. “You did a good job.”

Dean absolutely _does not blush_ at that. Castiel probably wouldn’t know a 427 engine from a hole in the ground, so why should Dean care what he thinks? “Yep. ’67 Chevy Impala. She was in pretty bad shape when I got her, but I fixed her up.”

“‘She’?” Castiel repeats.

“Sure. Like I said, she’s my baby.”

“You have an unhealthy attachment to your car,” Castiel says, and Dean laughs.

The waitress comes over then. “What can I get you?”

“Double bacon cheeseburger, extra onions, with a side of fries,” Dean says. “And a Coke.”

Castiel stares at him. “Do you even know the meaning of cholesterol?”

Dean flips him off.

“A cheeseburger and coleslaw. And a root beer,” Castiel tells the waitress.

“ _Coleslaw?_ Dude, you need to live a little!”

“So Gabriel keeps telling me,” Castiel replies, and Dean shuts up.

When their food arrives Dean chows down on his burger.

“Haven’t you eaten in the past week?” Castiel asks.

“Fukoo,” Dean retorts, his mouth full, and Castiel smirks.

Castiel is surprisingly easy to talk to, and Dean loses track of time. When he’s finished his burger and the last of his fries have gotten cold he looks at his watch and swears. “We gotta get back.”

Castiel looks at his own watch, raises a brow and nods. He moves to leave the booth, but Dean stops him.

“Hey, do you…” And what the hell is _wrong_ with him tonight? “Do you have, like, a phone number or something?”

Castiel grabs a napkin and scribbles something on it as Dean asks the waitress for the check, then hands it to him.

***

When they get back to the club, Becky is waiting for him outside. Dean winces at the look on her face.

“What the hell? I look all over for you and can’t find you, so I finally ask the bouncer and he says you left an hour ago with some guy?”

“I’ll just…see if I can find Gabriel,” Castiel says and beats a hasty retreat. Dean doesn’t blame him.

Becky bitches at him for awhile, then she starts asking questions. “So who is he? Are you going to see him again? Do you like him?”

Dean ignores her all the way back to her apartment.

When he gets home he heads straight into Sam’s room.

“Did you have fun?” Sam rasps from the bed, managing a smirk. Ha fucking ha.

“Dude, you owe me for, like, the next _fifty years!_ ” Dean growls, but he runs a hand over his pocket where he’d stuffed the napkin with Castiel’s number.  



	2. Bowling and Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean calls Castiel and ends up whipped.

Dean stares at the napkin, rubbing it nervously between his fingers. He finally takes a deep breath, picks up the phone on his bedside table and dials the number.

It’s been a week since he met Castiel in the club, and he’s just now gotten up the courage to call. It’s bizarre–the guy isn’t his usual type at all–but there’s something…compelling about him.

The phone rings four times, and Dean’s just about to hang up when a raspy voice says, “Hello?”

He swallows. “Castiel? It’s Dean Winchester. We met last week?” He’s half convinced Castiel will have forgotten all about him.

“Yes, I remember.”

“Um…I was wondering. There’s this new club on Seventh…”

Castiel laughs softly into the phone, and Dean relaxes a little.

“But seriously, did you want to go out for a beer sometime?”

There’s silence for so long that Dean thinks Castiel might have hung up on him, then he says, “Sure. Friday night OK?”

“Yeah. Do you want me to pick you up, or…?”

“That would be fine.”

Dean writes down the address Castiel gives him, says, “See you Friday,” hangs up and falls back on the bed.

***

He doesn’t tell Sam he has a date…or, well, whatever this is. Sam has a tendency to mock him and he doesn’t want to give him more ammunition. So on Friday night he just tells Sam, “I’m going out,” and takes the car.

Castiel’s house is small, but well-kept. The lawn’s mowed and the flower-beds are free of weeds. There’s an oak tree towering over the house. Dean wonders how he can afford it. He doubts he makes much working at a bookstore.

He knocks on the door and waits like an idiot. A moment later there’s a brief scuffle and he hears Castiel say, “Go _away!_ ” Dean wonders if he has a dog or something.

When the door opens there’s no dog anywhere in evidence, and Castiel looks about the same as he did when Dean saw him in the club, right down to the clothes. “Hello, Dean. Shall we go?”

Dean nods. “Sure.”

“Use protection!” Gabriel’s voice comes from another room. Castiel rolls his eyes and Dean understands the ruckus at the door and how he can afford the house. 

“Yes, we should definitely go.”

***

They don’t go to Dean’s regular bar, since he figures it’d give Castiel a heart attack. Instead he takes him to a smaller hole-in-the-wall bar he goes to when he’s depressed and wants to be left alone. And, yes, he is aware of the irony.

He figures he made the right call, since Castiel looks none too comfortable, sitting on a barstool nursing his whiskey and not looking at anyone. Dean wonders if the guy is just generally awkward. “Hey. You OK?”

Castiel nods. “I’m fine.” But his whiskey’s already gone.

“You don’t get out much, do you?” Dean asks.

Castiel grimaces. “Not generally, no. At least not to bars. I go to work, or to the library. Occasionally I go out to dinner.”

“So why’d you agree to go out for a drink if you don’t like bars?”

Castiel shrugs and Dean drops the subject.

He takes a pull of his beer and notices Castiel watching him swallow out of the corner of his eye. Dean doesn’t call him on it.

“I hope you didn’t get in too much trouble.”

Dean blinks. “What?”

“With your brother’s friend,” Castiel elaborates.

“Who, Becky?” Dean snorts. “She was over it before I dropped her off.”

Castiel nods. “That’s good.”

Castiel orders another whiskey and Dean gets a second beer while they’ve got the bartender’s attention.

“What about Gabriel?” Dean asks.

Castiel grimaces. “I’ve been forced to endure lewd comments all week.”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, I heard.”

“Is your brother better?”

“What?” It takes Dean a moment to remember he’d mentioned that. “Oh yeah, Sam’s fine.” 

Castiel nods.

“Seriously, do people ever call you anything besides ‘Castiel’?” Dean bursts out. And yeah, tactless and a non sequitur, but it’s bugging him.

“No.”

That’s certainly…unequivocal. “Not even Gabriel?”

Castiel grimaces again. “He calls me ‘bro.’”

Dean shakes his head. He can’t believe the guy went through life with a name like that and didn’t even come up with a nickname in self-defense. “Your parents must have been smoking something when they named you.”

He winces, but Castiel only laughs. “Quite possibly.”

Dean slaps his palms down on the bar. “Alright, executive decision. I’m calling you Cas.”

Castiel cocks his head at him. “What?”

“Cas,” Dean repeats. “Doesn’t sound as geeky.”

Cas blinks, then shrugs at him. “Alright.”

“Good.”

Neither of them says anything for awhile after that, and it gets kinda awkward. Cas calls the bartender over for another whiskey, and Dean raises an eyebrow as he drinks half of it in one pull. “Careful with that stuff.”

Cas gives him a disdainful look and drains the rest of the whiskey. He’s not acting drunk, but Dean figures he’s gonna keel over soon.

“You can hold your liquor pretty well for a skinny guy.”

“My family has a high tolerance for alcohol.” And, yeah, not slurring at all.

“You mean Gabriel?”

Cas nods. “And my sister, Anna. She drank three men under the table and won fifty dollars and a motorcycle.”

Dean laughs. “Seriously? You’ll have to introduce me sometime.”

Something flashes in Cas’ eyes, there and then gone again. “She lives in Vermont.”

“Shame,” Dean says, leaning back slightly on his stool, but he doesn’t really mean it.

Dean looks surreptitiously at Cas again. The sweater-vest sticks out just as much here as it did st the club. It fits Cas, somehow, but Dean can’t help wondering what he’d look like in jeans… He shoves the image away.

At the end of the night Cas asks, “Would you like to have coffee sometime?”

Dean doesn’t really do the Starbucks thing. That’s more Sam’s deal. But Cas came out to a bar when he didn’t normally, so he figures it’s the least he can do. “Sure.”

Cas smiles at him and Dean feels something flip in his stomach.

***

It’s late when he sneaks back and Sam’s asleep. Dean’s going to pretend he got back right after he went to bed, before if he can get away with it.

But Sam doesn’t mention it, and next week he picks Cas up again.

Cas directs him to a shopping center, and the minute Dean enters he’s convinced this was a mistake. There are twinkly lights strung around the windows and from the ceiling, modern-art style pictures of coffee cups on the walls and a bar with a bunch of stools running along them. A couple of squashy couches facing each other over a coffee table. Across from the door there’s a counter with a board behind it with brightly colored words scribbled on it.

He keeps his mouth shut and goes up to the counter. He can’t pronounce most of the stuff written behind it. “Can I just get a regular coffee?” he asks the girl behind the counter.

“Sure. You want anything in it?”

“Sugar,” Dean says. “Nothing else. No flavoring or caramel or crap.”

She grimaces and nods, then looks at Cas and rattles off something that doesn’t sound like English and has about sixteen syllables.

Cas smiles and nods.

“You come here a lot?” Dean asks as they sit down to wait for their drinks.

“Fairly often, yes.”

Dean rolls his eyes. He doesn’t know why he’s so interested in the guy. Cas isn’t his type at all. He’s a neo maxi zoon dweebie. But Dean’s apparently willing to go to a hippie coffee shop for him.

Cas goes and gets their drinks and sits back down on the stool next to him. Dean looks at his coffee suspiciously. It seems alright. He takes a cautious sip, and, yeah, it’s fine. Cas has some iced-whipped-caramel-frothy-latte-espresso thing. He barely refrains from snorting.

“So why a bookstore?”

“Hm?” Cas sets his drink down to look at him.

“Why work in a bookstore?”

Cas shrugs. “It was either that or the library.”

“So you read a lot?”

Cas gives him an ironic smile. “Some.”

Dean shakes his head. He shoulda guessed. Cas seems like the type to be a bookworm. “What kinda books?”

Cas shrugs again. “Shakespeare. Coleridge.”

Dean grimaces. “Seriously?”

“Tolkien.”

“Do you read anything written by people who are actually, you know, _alive?_ ” Dean demands, and Cas laughs.

“What about you?” Cas asks.

“You work in a bookstore. You tell me.”

Cas considers him a moment. “Pratchett. Or maybe Bradbury.”

“Read some Bradbury. Don’t know the other guy.”

“I think you’d like him. So what do you read?”

“Vonnegut, mostly.” Dean grins at the way Cas’ eyes widen.

They spend the next hour discussing the allusions in Slaughterhouse Five.

***

When Cas suggests they go bowling, though, Dean puts his foot down. “No. No way. I’ve got an image to maintain, I’m not wearing those clown-shoes!”

“Please?”

Christ, the guy’s puppy-eyes are worse than Sam’s. “Fine!” Dean growls.

He doesn’t know how he can be so whipped when he hasn’t even kissed the guy yet.

***

Dean bowls two gutter-balls in the first frame. He consoles himself with the fact that at least this proves he doesn’t belong in a bowling alley.

Then Cas gets up and bowls a strike like it’s nothing and calmly sits back down.

Dean feels his jaw sagging to the floor.

He bowls another gutter ball.

***

It goes on like that. Gutter ball. Gutter ball. Two pins. Gutter ball. And Cas’ score is fast approaching triple digits.

Dean scowls. He may not have wanted to come here, but his competitive streak is pissed that he’s losing, and badly.

“Here,” Cas says as he gets up for the final frame. “Let me help you.”

He steps up behind him and Dean tenses.

“You twist your wrist,” Cas says, taking hold of his arm. “That makes the ball go in the gutter.”

He swings Dean’s arm back and brings it forward again.

Dean doesn’t notice all the pins falling down.

***

Sam finally corners him about a week after Cas took him bowling. “Alright, who is she?”

Dean blinks at him. “What?”

“Or he. Whichever.”

“What are you talking about, Sammy?”

“Who are you seeing?”

“What makes you think I’m seeing anybody?” Dean demands.

Sam snorts. “Come on, Dean! You’ve been out at least once a week for the past three weeks, I’d say that’s a pretty solid indication!” 

“What makes you think I haven’t been going to bars?” Dean doesn’t know why he doesn’t want Sam to know about Cas. It’s just…Cas is different. Dean usually would’ve jumped him by now, since he knows Cas is interested, but…

Sam breaks into his thoughts. “You don’t come home smelling like alcohol. C’mon, spill. Who is it?” 

“His name is Cas,” Dean says reluctantly. 

“Where’d you meet him?” Sam wants to know.

“At that club,” Dean mutters after a long moment.

Sam laughs. “So much for me owing you!” 

“Oh, you owe me,” Dean growls. “That place was fucking _scary_ ” 

“So have you kissed him yet?”

“Sam!”

His brother just waves his arm in a _Well?_ gesture.

“…No.” 

Sam stares at him. “Seriously?” 

“I don’t want to scare him off!” Dean blurts out, then winces.

Sam blinks at him. “You’re really serious about him, huh?” 

“I…I guess. I mean, I dunno.” 

“Since you’ve known him nearly a month and haven’t even kissed him yet I’d say you are,” Sam says. “Bring him by for dinner sometime,” 

“…What?” 

“Bring him by. I want to meet him. Ask him his intentions.” 

“ _Sam!_ Besides, that’s my job, scaring off the girls that want to date you!” 

“You’re not the only one who’s allowed to be protective! I’ve seen some of your so-called relationships! I want to make sure you don’t get your heart broken.”

Dean scowls at him. “Fuck you, Sammy.”

***

“Sam wants to meet you,” Dean tells Cas the next time he sees him.

“What? Why?” 

Dean shrugs uncomfortably. “He just does. So you wanna come over for dinner next week?” 

Cas considers. “Alright.”

***

The night Cas comes over for dinner Sam makes lasagna and gives him the third degree. He asks him about everything from what he does for a living to where he lives, to how he and Dean met, to how long he’s lived in the area.

Dean focuses on his lasagna, his ears burning, as Cas answers all of Sam’s questions.

It’s not entirely one-sided though. “What do you do?” Cas asks, cutting his lasagna.

“I’m interning at a law firm. I take the bar exam next year.” 

“Oh? What type of law? Criminal? Tax law?” 

“Civil rights.” 

“Sammy wants to fight for the downtrodden housewives of America,” Dean puts in. 

“Fuck off.”

***

When Cas is gone, Dean turns away from where he’s loading the dishwasher (it’s his turn, and Sam will bitch if the lasagna dries on the pan) and asks, “So?” 

“So what?” Sam asks innocently. 

Dean glowers, “ _So,_ what did you think of Cas?” 

“I like him. I mean, he’s not your usual type but I like him.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “So glad he meets with your approval, princess.” 

“Fuck off,” Sam says again.

***

“So Sam likes you,” Dean says to Cas when they’re at a movie a few days later.

“That’s good.”

Dean nods. “Now we only have to deal with Gabriel.”

Cas snorts. “Gabriel despairs of me. He thinks I should have gotten laid by now.”

Dean chokes. Of all the things he was expecting Cas to say, _that_ wasn’t one of them. “Has…has the idea even crossed your mind?” Because it’s crossed his. Multiple times. In graphic detail.

“Of course not!” Cas says. But his eyes are fixed on the screen, and Dean can’t tell in the uncertain light, but it looks like he’s blushing.

“Ah. OK. Good to know.” And because he’s never going to get a better opportunity, he takes hold of Cas’ chin, turns his head and kisses him.

Cas stiffens, then relaxes against him and kisses back.


End file.
